 | Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill |  |
21
DENNY'S DAUGHTER.
Denny's daughter stood a minute in the field I be to pass,
All as quiet as her shadow lyin' by her on the grass;
In her hand a switch o' hazel from the nut tree's crooked root,
Well I mind the crown o' clover crumpled undher one bare foot.
For the look of her,
The look of her
Comes back on me to-day,—
Wi' the eyes of her,
The eyes of her
That took me on the way.
All as quiet as her shadow lyin' by her on the grass;
In her hand a switch o' hazel from the nut tree's crooked root,
Well I mind the crown o' clover crumpled undher one bare foot.
For the look of her,
The look of her
Comes back on me to-day,—
Wi' the eyes of her,
The eyes of her
That took me on the way.
22
Though I seen poor Denny's daughter white an' stiff upon her bed,
Yet I be to think the sunlight's fallin' somewhere on her head:
She'll be singin' Ave Mary where the flowers never wilt,
She, the girl my own hands covered wi' the narrow daisy-quilt. . . .
For the love of her,
The love of her
That would not be my wife:
An' the loss of her,
The loss of her
Has left me lone for life.
Yet I be to think the sunlight's fallin' somewhere on her head:
She'll be singin' Ave Mary where the flowers never wilt,
She, the girl my own hands covered wi' the narrow daisy-quilt. . . .
For the love of her,
The love of her
That would not be my wife:
An' the loss of her,
The loss of her
Has left me lone for life.
| Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill | |